


Miss

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:04:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8243827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Marie is playing with one of the buttons of Aramis’ coat when she looks up at him, snug in his arms, and says, “Mis.”  (post-series)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jlarinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jlarinda/gifts).



> So about a month ago, JL gave me a prompt for a ficlet on tumblr - but it ended up being kind of long so I decided to just post it here. The prompt is: "Marie's first "word" is something like 'mis'. Aramis is all flustered and dumb about it until they all notice the girl hug her dad and go '/mis/' emphatically. Porthos cries, probably." 
> 
> We're all going to pretend that's how French works shhhhhh it's fine let the ";A;" wash over you.   
> Also one of these days I'll figure out if Marie has a tag that isn't actually Porthos' mother.

Marie is playing with one of the buttons of Aramis’ coat when she looks up at him, snug in his arms, and says, “Mis.” 

Aramis, of course, does not drop her. He is startled, though, and she makes a small squeaking sound when he squeezes her a little tight. She looks up at him again, tugging at the button of his coat.

She says, again, quite plainly, “Mis.” 

Aramis loves Marie. That’s not surprising in the least, he’s sure. She’s a child, small and all smiles. And, more importantly, she is Porthos’ child. Of course he would adore her. The day Porthos left to return to the front, Aramis promised to look after his daughter for him. At the time, Porthos had gone misty eyed, nodded, and cupped Aramis’ cheeks and kissed him far gentler than he’d ever been kissed before. Since then, Porthos has returned home a few times, but only in short bursts and never for long enough. 

Now, Aramis is faced with evidence of this – that Porthos’ daughter’s first word would be ‘Aramis’ and not anything else. It makes the bottom drop out of his stomach and his heart sink down low into tiny, splintered pieces. This, he knows, he does not deserve. He can picture the moment Porthos comes home and hears it for the first time – sees evidence of his daughter orbiting around Aramis rather than her father. 

He feels, quite suddenly, too cold. His body feels empty in the wake of such a betrayal. 

It’s not Marie’s fault – of course it isn’t. It isn’t Aramis’ fault, either, for doing what was asked of him – of visiting with Marie, caring for her, loving her. And it is not Porthos’ fault, either, that he should be away doing the task assigned to him, keeping this country safe and sound. He knows that Porthos will come home. 

Aramis’ hands do not shake, but this is only because he’s holding Marie, who has returned to studying the buttons and clasps of Aramis’ coat with great detail and attentiveness. She’s such a smart and inquisitive girl – not unexpected of Porthos’ daughter. 

His heart is thundering. He tries to calm it. He rocks Marie gently until she begins to squirm, tiring of being held. She’s already getting so big. Aramis’ arms ache from the strain – and he hates to do it, but he does set her down. She toddles on her feet a little before she begins investigating the ties of Aramis’ boots. She giggles as she tugs and it comes undone. 

All just little moments robbed of Porthos. Aramis does not deserve to experience these. 

But he’ll experience them all, every single one – commit them to memory so he can describe it all to Porthos. So Porthos, no matter where he is, knows the experience of his daughter growing up. 

He closes his eyes, sighs out, and presses a hand to his forehead. It’s not the first time he’s wished for this damned war to be over. He knows, quite sadly, that it will not be the last.

“Mis,” Marie says, tugging hard at Aramis’ shoelace. 

“Yes, Marie?” Aramis asks her, smiling down at her – expression warm. 

Marie stares up at him, her face scrunched up in that grumpy baby way that only small children can. Her hair is getting long – Aramis will need to cut it for her again soon. She huffs at him.

“Mis,” she says again. She stares at him. 

Aramis continues to smile. “That’s right. I’m Aramis.” 

She stares at him longer. Tugs at his shoelace one last time, and then wanders away. Aramis sighs and follows after her. 

 

-

 

It’s a few weeks later that Porthos is scheduled to return home for a visit. It’s not a social visit, necessarily – there are matters of war to discuss with Her Majesty and the council, but of course Porthos never comes home to Paris without seeing his wife and child, or Aramis. 

Aramis doesn’t mean to be here when Porthos does come home. Despite the ache in his chest – the painful, intense way he misses him – he doesn’t try to intrude on Porthos’ reunion with his family. He and Elodie are growing closer and closer, and it’s important they have those moments – this Aramis knows. And, more importantly, that Porthos has his moment with his daughter.

He hadn’t planned it, but now he’s hovering. He can’t help it. He told Marie that her father was coming home today and her response was simply, “Mis!” 

She hasn’t said his full name yet, but she might be having trouble with the ‘r’ sound. He can’t blame her. But he feels the strong, painful need to be here – to explain to Porthos when inevitably she says it near him. He doesn’t think Porthos will be angry – Porthos is rarely angry with him, much less for something like this that isn’t anyone’s fault – but Porthos will be sad. He won’t be able to help it, won’t be able to hide it. 

Aramis is wringing his hands together. Elodie is giving him a patient, long-suffering look – a look she often wears whenever Aramis is hovering. Marie is toddling at Elodie’s feet, playing with the folds of her skirt and leaning heavily against her mother’s knees. 

“Mis!” she chirps out, looking up at Elodie and then at Aramis. 

It isn’t the first time Elodie’s heard her daughter say his name, but she still casts Aramis a look – her eyebrows lifting. 

She looks as if she’s about to say something when the sound of a horse whining outside makes them both snap up their attention. Elodie bends down and scoops Marie up as she stands – a little too abruptly, a little too eagerly – and Aramis smiles to himself. Elodie, for the most part, is an understated person – quiet and thoughtful, and unflinching in her opinions. But like this, for just a moment, she looks years younger – bright and hopeful. 

Aramis’ heart is hammering in his throat as the door opens and Porthos steps through the door, already stripped from his armor and wearing his under-armor. Before Porthos, Elodie, or Aramis can speak Elodie squeals loudly and flings her arms out, wriggling in Elodie’s hold. 

Porthos smiles at her, his eyes warm and soft and – God, Aramis can’t imagine it’s possible for him to have grown more handsome in this moment, the morning light in his hair, no new scars on his face, only a few scrapes at his nose and forehead, his beard shaggy, and his eyes soft like that. His smile softens when he looks at Elodie – and then he turns his head and spots Aramis and he starts beaming, Aramis’ unexpected presence a welcomed delight, clearly. 

Aramis’ smiles back, feels delirious, but also fearful. He watches, quiet, as Porthos crosses the room and kisses Elodie first, his hand on her cheek, and then Marie’s forehead, who is still wriggling in her mother’s hold. Aramis feels himself step forward and halt, feeling out of place. But Porthos grins at him, steps forward the meet him the rest of the way and cups his cheek before leaning in and kissing him – a chaste kiss, to be sure, but still welcomed. 

Before Aramis can say anything, before any of them can say anything, Marie lets out a loud howl-squeal and reaches out towards Porthos. Porthos laughs, his eyes soft and a little misty, as he turns back towards his daughter and reaches for her. She’s too young to actually fling from her mother’s arms and into her father’s, but the sentiment is there. He collects her up into his arms – and she’s still so tiny in his arms, still so small, and he holds her so gently, so carefully, as if she’s going to break or as if he’ll lose her. 

Marie’s little hands flop against Porthos’ beard, hitting him rather hard against the mouth, and then towards his neck – almost hugging him, but pausing. 

She’s staring at her father when she says, quite emphatically, “Papa! _Miss_!” 

The twisting in Aramis’ stomach eases, only to be replaced by the clench of his heart – the sudden, painful understanding as Marie plucks at her father’s buttons, looks up at him and giggles happily when Porthos ducks his head and kisses her temple, fans his fingers through her wispy blonde hair. 

“I missed you, too, Marie,” Porthos tells her, and his voice is rich and deep and honeyed and it sends a shiver down Aramis’ spine, that deep, pained longing seeing Porthos again, seeing Porthos hold his child, seeing Porthos hold his child who’s grown so much in his absence. His smile is gentle, warm and loving, but undoubtedly melancholy. 

Marie nods, though, and looks satisfied, and doesn’t squirm when Porthos hugs her tight. 

“Papa,” she says, rather forceful.

“I know,” Porthos tells her. “I missed you.” And his voice is wobbly and this time Aramis sees that he’s tearing up, clenching his eyes shut and just holding her. 

Aramis glances at Elodie, who meets his eye and smiles a little – gentle, kind. Aramis smiles and feels the fear drain out of him. Marie stays in Porthos’ arms for most of the morning after that.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on my [tumblr](http://stardropdream.tumblr.com/), as always.


End file.
